


No One Disrespects the Queen

by TheJokersEnigma



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Anorexia, F/M, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJokersEnigma/pseuds/TheJokersEnigma
Summary: I was given the request on tumblr:Could you perhaps write a oneshot fanfiction with Joker where the reader is badly anorexic? I know it's a touchy subject it's just I personally am struggling with it and feel unlovable. Most people tell me I'm a skeleton and look disgusting. If you are willing too I'd really like to read something like that as I adore your work and reading your fanfics makes me happy. If not it's understandable... Like where J realises she never eats and sees how deathly she looks and tries to help her?I wrote the oneshot and decided to post it on here in case others also wanted to read it - doesn't fit exactly to this request but along the same lines!MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR ANOREXIA!!!! PLS! Don't read this if anything to do with anorexia with trigger you! Pls don't put yourself through this!!!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys,  
> Some I' really excited for this piece of writing because it's my very first request! Thank you to whoever posted this for me to do by the way - I like writing for someone!
> 
> This was the request:  
> Could you perhaps write a oneshot fanfiction with Joker where the reader is badly anorexic? I know it's a touchy subject it's just I personally am struggling with it and feel unlovable. Most people tell me I'm a skeleton and look disgusting. If you are willing too I'd really like to read something like that as I adore your work and reading your fanfics makes me happy. If not it's understandable... Like where J realises she never eats and sees how deathly she looks and tries to help her?
> 
> First of all, I was more than happy to write this because I myself have been through anorexia and so I really wanted to cheer this anon up in anyway I could. With that in mind I do apologise if you can't relate to this fic very well, I'm sure everyone who has anorexia goes through things differently, but ive written it the way that I went through by using what I felt and what I experienced.  
> Other point to make, this is not exactly like what the request asked for as it focuses more on the lack of energy etc. side of it and more of just before help, not the help techniques. If you would like a one shot more on what you asked for feel free to let me know and I'd happily write it but I got caught up in this storyline in my head and didn't want to make it 10,000 words by putting in anymore than what ive done here.  
> But like i'd said, I'm happy to carry it on if that's something people are interested in.  
> Sorry about the really long blab above ^^^ I'll get on with the story now.
> 
> WARNING: TRIGGERING! Please do not read if anything about anorexia is in anyway way triggering!!!! You have been warned! Pls don't put yourself through pain to read this! xxxxxx  
> You've been warned!

When I looked at my phone, the clock read nearly 4:30am.  
There was a dim light in the room, the summer sun already having risen. I could feel a presence behind me as I lay in bed, and a quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicions – my boyfriend was home.  
He hadn’t been 2 hours earlier when - yet again - I had woken up, but now I turned over to watch him, his green hair - usual so neatly styled – dishevelled and fanning out around him on his pillow, his pallor face peaceful, and, though the rings under his eyes still dark, the features on his face were softer somehow.  
He was beautiful in his own way, I thought as I admired him lying there. To some people his appearance was terrifying, others found him almost intoxicating. I was one of those. His vibrant red lips, only a short distance away, were addictive and even now I wanted to reach out and trace them. His eyes, hidden though they were in the dark under his eyes lids, were a captivating blue that could pierce into you and I had to stop myself from waking him just to see them.  
I didn’t get to do this often. Just be with him. He was always busy doing something, sometimes I wondered if he acknowledged my existence at all or if I was just a convenience, available when he needed me, but otherwise not there.  
When we were together I still didn’t feel like we stopped to savour anything, he was always such an urgent person, he didn’t savour many things. So I liked times like this, even is he wasn’t really part of this. I felt like I could step back and just admire him.  
As I revelled in his perfectness, I couldn’t help the thoughts now turning to how much I wasn’t perfect. How I was nothing like the man before me. Personality or beauty.  
So why was I here?  
Why was I the one lying next to him in this huge queen-sized bed in his penthouse?  
Was I just a convenience?  
I was always waiting for the day he didn’t bring me back here. Or the day he just turned a gun on me. You’d think I’d be scared that this was technically a possibility, but it was weird, I had never felt in danger with him. He clearly trusted me, I thought as I watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically, or else he wouldn’t put himself in such a vulnerable position with me.  
But why?  
There was nothing about me particularly enticing, nothing to draw someone in – I was a plain girl, untalented, chubby, ungraceful and nothing compared to what he could have.  
The minute I once more turned my thoughts down this path, I could feel the invasive thoughts taking other once again, That’s right. The voice said to me, you need to be better. They were right and I was now painfully aware of how many hours I had been lying in the bed. I had to be better.  
I rolled back over, sitting up and about to swing my legs over the edge when I felt a strong, muscular arm wrap around my waist and pull me backwards.  
My head landed on the Joker’s solid chest and I heard the sleepy mumble close to my ear. “Where do you think you’re going?”  
“Can’t sleep.” I replied, pulling against his restraint. The voice in my head was louder now. Demanding. I needed to be on my feet now or else I was lazy. Failing.  
I pulled against my restraint, almost violently, and J wasn’t expecting it so he released me. I moved back to the end of the bed, immediately pushing myself to my feet. I hugged my arms against myself, instantly freezing when I got out of the warm bed - even in the middle of July. I noticed movement behind me and I turned to see the Joker making a move to get out of bed as well.  
“No J.” I told him, leaning over my side of the bed and placing my hand on his chest – immediately the invasive thoughts were back, battling with each. Was this bad? Am I using energy if I’m not supporting my full weight on my legs? But I’m using my arm muscles to keep myself up – so that’s alright – I’m just using different muscles. “You need to sleep.” I said, trying not to show the inner battle inside me.  
“And so do you doll.” He retorted grumpily.  
“I went to bed early.” I lied, watching him carefully, begging him in my mind to believe me. “J, I’m fine.” I insisted, “Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t me you shouldn’t.” He stared back at me, his eyes clear and penetrating even in the darkness of the room and I was worried he would see through my lie and put up a fight.  
He dropped back down onto the bed without a word, turning over so he wasn’t facing me. That hurt a bit, but I was glad he was letting me go. I didn’t hang around, leaving him to get some rest as I walk out the room in silence, grabbing and jumper and then closing the door as quietly as possible behind me.  
I wandered from room to room slowly as I pulled my hoody over my head – it was 2 sizes too big for me now.  
I didn’t know what to do with myself.  
I had all these extra hours now that I didn’t sleep as long, yet nothing to do with them.   
I tried to remember what I used to do, but few things appealed to me anymore.  
I remembered I used to read a lot, book after book – sometimes finishing a huge novel in a day if I got really into it. Now nothing seemed to hold my attention for long – it was too much effort to get invested in a book and pay attention to it.   
I remembered once wanting to write. Now had no imagination, and no will to sit at a computer for hours at a time. Besides I couldn’t now - I would have to stand.  
Instead I turned to one of the few activities that I found myself enjoying now – so much so it was what usually got me through the day – watching the cooking channel.  
It sounded lame, but for some reason I loved it and found it fascinating. I made my way to the living room, switching on the TV, not surprised when it was already on the right channel (J didn’t watch much TV – he was too busy). And so I watched rerun after rerun of a cooking competition, enthralled in the concoctions and the food porn on the screen.  
I didn’t sit on the expensive sofas that graced the high-end flat though, instead I stood, leaning on the back of the chair until I realised maybe I ought not to be leaning – the voice telling me that it wasn’t doing enough – and I reluctantly pushed myself up so that my leg supported my full weight, my feet already protesting.  
No pain, no gain, I thought, shifting my weight from foot to foot to try to relieve the ache a bit. After a while I pulled out my phone and returned to my second favourite pastime – looking at websites for health tips, weight loss tricks and recipes.  
I don’t know how long I stood there flicking through tabs and watching Jamie Oliver teach me to roast a Turkey just right (it was a Christmas special on in the middle of July) – probably at least an hour before I couldn’t ignore the pain in my feet anymore and I needed to move.  
So I switched to the last thing in my repertoire of hobbies – cooking.  
So the rest of the my very early morning was spent cooking up a breakfast for J and any henchman that had to stop by the flat for business.  
The oven clock read 8am when I finally allowed myself to have my first meal of the day. (I was ready to eat at 7:56, but it had to be exactly 8 before I allowed myself anything – otherwise the voice told me I’d get too hungry too quickly). I prepped my food – an apple – cut into the thinnest slices I could manage so I felt like I was eating more – and weighed it – 50g = 26 calories. I typed this into my calorie counting app on my phone then proceeded to remove 10g from the scales and threw them into the bin - just to be safe that I wasn’t definitely eating no more than 26 calories.  
When I had remeasured the food at least 2 more times to check it was definitely the number I had read I finally allowed myself to sit down on one of the kitchen stools and eat.  
I ate away at the thin pieces of fruit, trying my best to eat slowly and make the most of the food, cursing to myself that I couldn’t have waited until later to eat. The problem with getting up early was I had to acknowledge the hunger earlier - if I managed to sleep later, I could eat later. That then meant that got hungry later and might even be able to skip lunch.  
I suddenly felt a shiver wrack through my body even with my oversized jumper and thick pyjamas, and I yearned for a hot drink to warm me up a bit. I could smell the coffee beans that J had from the other side of the room. Even as I considered the temptation of making a cup I was doing the calculations in my head. I couldn’t afford the calories – all 2-9 of them (depending on who you asked) I always counted each cup as 18 calories because that was the highest result I had gotten when I had searched it and I couldn’t risk being wrong.  
So instead I stood back up, my feet immediately sore again, and boiled the kettle, pouring myself a mug of hot water. This would do I thought as I sipped at the hot water. It felt wonderful.  
My breakfast finished, and still no movement from J, I thought about what to do now. Today was my day off my usual work out – but that didn’t mean it was my day off exercise. I didn’t want to wake J up, but I needed to get out of my pyjamas so I dug around till I found the pile of laundry, clean but not ironed.   
I changed in a bathroom down the hall, pulling a fleece over my goosebump riddled arms. I couldn’t believe it was July. Must be global warming or something.   
I took the private elevator down to the ground floor and then headed across the large entrance way to the exit. I got a few weird looks on the way out of the building but most of the people around at this time of morning on a Tuesday were business men rushing to meetings and I was too self-conscious to keep much of my gaze higher than the floor immediately in front of me.  
I said I would go for a walk. Told myself I would. But I knew I was really going for a run. The good thing about running was – besides the obvious calorie burning – I could run past people before I caught them staring at me.  
I started running the minute I stepped onto the pavement. I ran and ran until I couldn’t anymore. Then I would slow to a walk for a few moments before I ran again. I continued this the whole run. I couldn’t run any less than the last time – it always had to be the exact same or more. If it was more – then I would have to meet that next time.  
I ran for a good hour. 1:13 to be exact. I did a circuit so I ended up back at the suite.  
It was only when I walked back into the pent house, still catching my breath, that I realised the door to the bedroom was open and, when I looked in, the bed was empty. J must have finally got up and probably now working – I wondered if he found the food I’d made him.  
I moved to the bathroom, turning on the shower and undressing, having to pause for a moment when I felt a wave of light-headedness wash over me. I sat on the side of the large bath tub, soon letting myself slip off and sink to the tiled floor, my knees folded into my chest and my head in my hands as I tried to breathe evenly, momentarily terrified something bad was happening to me.  
I kept breathing myself through it – maybe I’d been overdoing it recently? After a few moments, everything felt fine once more and I pushed myself wearily to my feet – the voice in my head only justifying that I could sit that long thanks to the run I had just done.  
Standing upright made me feel woozy again but I persevered anyway, slipping into the shower and moving slowly until I felt a bit better – though it was probably the speed I always moved. Everything I did was now was slow. But everyone had days like that right? When you didn’t have the energy or motivation to move any faster than one slow pace. That was just life – I just happen to do it a lot lately – but was it really slow after all – was I just being silly?  
As I stood pondering this I felt cold arms wrap my stomach. I flinched at the contact on an area I felt sensitive about, gasping in surprise, at jumping at the cold touch. “Jeez, doll, this water is boiling.” I spun around to come face to face with the Joker still fully clothed, behind me.  
“What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief looking at his shirt which hung open as though he had been in the middle of getting dressed, the water now soaking into the sleeves.  
“Trying to see if my little kitten wanted to get hot in a different way then pouring lava on her skin.” He growled teasingly with a wide grin on his face, his hands trailing over my skin and making me goose bump in a non-sexual way. I couldn’t help but shiver against him.  
“Ooo doll, do that again.” The Joker purred, pulling me closer so I was pressed against his muscular chest, his cold skin against mine seeming to pull the heat from my body.  
“No, J.” I said almost harshly, pushing away from him and stepping back under the powerful shower, hugging my arms to myself and embracing the heat that washed over me.   
“Excuse me, doll?” Asked J incredulously, his grin dropping and his eyes becoming dark – like they did when anyone refused him something. But I trusted him to control himself around me.  
“I’m sorry J,” I apologised none the less - I didn’t like disappointing him. “I’m just not in the mood.”  
He grumbled something indistinctly, his eyes still dangerous, and left in a huff. I was left standing alone in the shower, even colder than before.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We didn’t really clash for the rest of the day – mostly, I believed, because J did his usual of shutting himself away in the office all day as he carried out his business.  
Our relative peace only lasted till that evening however, when J asked invited me to go with him to the club for the evening.  
“No thanks, J.” I said, giving my familiar answer as I lounged on the sofa (my first sit down in over 2 hours).  
He frowned, his eyes darkening immediately again, not that I noticed – I wasn’t looking at him. He didn’t say anything in reply but he didn’t move either. I had expected him to get his answer and leave – maybe in a huff, but I didn’t have the energy to care. When he didn’t however I turned my head to look at him, frowning at him in question.  
“It wasn’t a request this time, doll.” He growled at me in warning.  
I was shocked by what he was saying, was he forcing me to go out? “I don’t want to go, J.” I told him calmly, but with a sternness to it.  
“I don’t care what you want, doll.” He purred dangerously.  
“You can’t force me to go out with you.” I told him, but my voice faltered slightly under his gaze and I knew I could feeling my pulse under my skin. He was starting to scare me.  
“Kitten,” He warned, “you’re pushing me and I’m not sure you want to.” There was no smile on his face, his lips a dark red and pressed into a thin line, his eyes looked fierce.  
I was frightened now, J hadn’t been like this with me before. Had I pissed him off? I was always worried because of my low mood that I was being moody or annoying to people, but I couldn’t never seem to do anything about.  
Now I was stuck in my own mind. I hated that I was letting J down by not wanting to go with him, but I was tired – physically and mentally exhausted. The voice seemed confused too. If I went to the club then I the movement was burning more calories than staying here. But I hated the feeling of exhaustion I got when I was out in public and the fact I would have to make it through the whole night trying to look alive, whilst also coming up with a new reason why I couldn’t have one of the club’s cocktails. J had already asked me several times if I was pregnant. I wasn’t willing to say yes to that to get out of a drink – not yet anyway.  
But I hadn’t been to the club in over a month now. J went nearly every night to one or another of his businesses.  
I didn’t know what to say to J now. He was still frightening me and I was scared to push him further and unsure what I could say to placate him. All that was running through my head at the moment was the same lame excuses as to why I didn’t want to go – I’m too tired, I don’t even drink, you don’t need me there, it’s not like I’ll do anything but sit and wait for you to finish anyway. I knew J didn’t care about my excuses.  
I couldn't meet his eyes anymore, keeping my gaze down. He couldn't stop glaring darkly at me and - if I looked at him now - I was sure I would see the anger darkening his eyes to a stormy blue.  
When the silence between us became too much, and I had to look up at him just to try to gage what he was feeling, it was worse than I thought. I was worried what I was seeing was not truly anger, but hurt, as though he was in some sort of pain.   
That sight burned me, broke me, and I had to look away, concentrating back onto the thick carpet under my socks, tracing the pattern with my eyes.  
“I’m sorry, J” I mumbled at the floor.  
“You’re sorry?” He whined, mimicking me cruelly. “You’re sorry?" he asked again. “Your apologies are like cheesy pop songs doll, they just keep playing till people are sick of them!” He sneered.  
I didn't know what to say to that - clearly an apology wouldn't be right - so I continued to stare at the floor. It was comfier like this. I liked the fact my neck hung loose, no energy needed to hold it up. I liked the fact I was collapsed on the sofa, all day I wished I could have done it.  
“Look at you.” he snarled venomously, gesturing to me as I sat - probably looking like a rejected puppet collapsed against the arm of the sofa and lost amongst the many layers of baggy jumpers and hoodies I wore, "Pathetic."  
"You’re weak.” He spat, “No spark, no flare, no energy. What is the use of you anymore?" he demanded.  
I shook my head at the carpet, each word stabbing and shooting through me like he was firing the weapons I knew were in his pockets. What was the point in me? What was my use anymore? I could feel the tears forming in my eyes and I tried to hold back the tide that now threatened to overwhelm me, covering my face with my hands as if somehow that might help to hold it all back.  
“Pathetic.” He snarled again before he spun around and stormed out of the room, leaving me curled into the sofa, no longer able to hold back the emotions. I let out one hiccupping sob and then everything poured out until I was blubbering into the expensive sofa arm.  
It wasn’t long before I heard the roar of an engine and the screech of wheel that told me the Joker had left and a new, more intense wave washed over until I was gripping fists of my hair and pulling in misery and frustration.  
In a moment of mental clarity, I had a thought.   
What was happening to me?

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I went to bed early that night, unable to concentrate on anything but on low I was feeling. How nothing was right. How I was starving and wanted food. How I was in pain and hated my workouts, dreaded them every day. How I hated that I hurt people around me – especially J. I didn’t blame him for going off on me, everything he said had been true. I was weak, I was pathetic.  
With all these things replaying in my head I slept fitfully that night – never seeming to manage for than 30 minutes before I was awoken by my own mind.  
That was why - when the Joker finally returned to the suite at 4am the following morning - I was lying awake. Hungry, thirsty, depressed and stressed, yet too exhausted to anything about any of these things, I just lay staring up at the ceiling in the dark.  
When I heard the front door open I knew it would have to be him – security was tight around here, very tight. Not even a henchman was allowed up here if he wasn’t here. None the less I panicked and my every sense focused on his movements through the pent house as I tried to detect when he was getting close to the room.  
After a few long agonising minutes, the hallway light was switched on illuminating the outline of the door directly in front of me. I heard the door open and one crack of light enlarged as the bedroom door opened to reveal J’s dark shadow in the doorway. I blinked at the sudden brightness that filled the room.  
The silence between us stretched on. I didn’t move and neither did J.  
I could have pretended to sleep. Delayed the conversation, maybe even removed the chance to have it.   
But I was tired, achy, depressed and starving.  
“Help me.” I whimpered into the dark.  
I thought the shadow would leave me then. Turn and walk away from the pitiful girl lying on the bed, unable to find anything within her to even sit up. All I do was wait for the shadow to leave the doorway and for the sound of receding footsteps.  
But they didn’t.  
The shadow moved, but not away. It came into the room, his steps softened by the thick carpet underfoot. I closed my eyes, no longer sure I wanted to do this now.  
The next thing I knew I was being scooped up by strong arms and pulling me upright with very little effort until I was cradled in his arms. His chest was hard and cold, but I found it comforting and solid.  
“I thought you would have left.” He murmured so quietly I almost couldn’t hear.  
I shook my head – hard as it was to do when I was pressed so tightly to his chest.  
“The one time, kitten, that the I’m glad you’re not like you use to be.” He said, and I pulled my head up to look him in the eyes, frowning with confusion.  
“The old you would never had let me get away with the shit I said to you, doll. You would have up and left whilst preaching about some right you had or something.” He chuckled quietly to himself. I just cuddled back into his solid chest, showing him in my own silent way that I had no intention to leave. His arms tightened around me even more.  
We stayed like that in silence for a while, happy to be in each-others company. It was what I had always wanted between us – for him to slow down for a moment, and I guess I needed to as well. It was a rare kind of sincerity with the Joker.  
“I just want to be perfect for you J.” I finally admitted, lifting my head slightly so I could speak.  
He didn’t say anything and I wondered if he heard me. I buried once more, embarrassed for confessing something so personal when he didn’t even care to listen.   
“You think I would waste my time on someone who wasn’t already perfect?” He asked, and I felt the vibration of his voice through his chest, it comforted me.  
I pulled myself away from him again so I could look up at his face, “But your always around all those pretty girls at the club – I’m nothing like them.” I pointed out.  
“You don’t think I know that, doll?” He demanded with a frown and I let my head drop – he was annoyed that I wasn’t like them then. “I’m glad you’re not, doll. I’ve been around those sorts of girls for a very long time and none of them have ever come home with me.” He told me, “The first night I saw you I made sure you did.” There was a another pause of silence, both of us lost in our own minds. “That was a long time ago though.” J reminisced, “A time when you looked very different.”  
“But why - ?” I pressed, confused by what he was saying – it didn’t make sense to me.  
“Because doll, I chose you for more than you’re looks – which I hasten to add are more than adequate!” He said hotly, as though annoyed at my continual denial of this, “And I’ll be sure to correct you when you say otherwise.” He added. “But doll, the first thing I saw with you wasn’t your killer dress or your murderous curves,” He purred teasingly, running his hands up my body as he still held me upright and I squirmed under his touch, uncharacteristically trying to hold back giggles, “it was your personality, your humour, your energy. All of which you are now severely lacking in, kitten.” He pointed out.   
At least words any happiness I had built being with him crumbled. “I’m a failure.” I blubbered, feeling myself close to sobbing again.  
“You’re not a failure doll,” J said, almost softly, though there was firmness to his voice, “I’m afraid you’re just sane.” He said solemnly, “It’s a terrible disease that grips you – it makes you care too much, it makes you gullible, it makes you greedy for something better and never content to revel in the present.” He rattled off passionately. He switched his arm placement around me so he supported me with only one arm, the other he brought up to my face and tenderly wiped away the tears on my cheeks, “It’s a terrible disease,” He repeated, “It always makes you look for the reason to cry, not to laugh.” He added with a sad smile that I could just make out in the poor lighting.  
I gave him a weak smile in return, probably looking a state even in the darkness, and my smile dropped again at the thought. J must have noticed because he moved his hand from my cheek to my chin, tilting my face up so I looked at him in the eye. “That why I’m here though, doll.” He said with a small smile, “I’m the opposite of you, you’re my sanity doll, and I’m your crazy.” He purred lowly, tilting my face more and pulling me up as he leant down and he kissed me.  
“I’ll help you.” He promised, “No one disrespects my Queen, especially not the Queen herself.”


	2. Version 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I have had multiple requests to do a Harley x Joker version of this story so I went ahead and altered it so now the 'reader' is Harley.  
> There is very little change to the story, only a few edits so if you don't care about the change in character don't bother to read it again! haha

Harley rolled over once more, irritably smacking away the hair that persisted in falling on her face and only adding to the suffocation of insomnia as she tossed and turned. She now faced across the bed, her eyes immediately falling on the familiar dark shape next to her, his skin so pale it was practically glowing in the dark.  
An unknown time ago she might have tried to snuggle into him now – his drowsy self being his most agreeable self – generally – and so he was more likely to give into her constant want of attention and grant her the comfort of his arms. But tonight, she shifted further away from him, like she had done for a while now, pulling the duvet tighter around her cold pale shoulders.  
She couldn’t remember exactly when she started removing herself from his presence, but the why was permanently etched in her mind. Every time he touched her she was disgusted with herself. His fingers wandering her skin no longer turned her on like they once had, now they screamed out all her imperfections, that roll of fat on her side she was trying desperately to get rid of, the pudgy bit of her stomach which forced her to hold her breath constantly to not see it, the persistent fold under her arms that she just wished she could take a knife to and cut out.  
Even just a hug made her acutely aware of all these flaws and she couldn’t how J – the man who seemed to know and see everything that went on – could possibly miss feeling these same problem areas. He would get rid of her for sure – she was perfect enough. And that was what J deserved. Absolute perfection.  
Which was not her.  
So why was she her? Why did she think she was good enough to lie with him in his huge queen-size bed in his penthouse?  
She couldn’t place it and, not for the first time, she thought about leaving. Leaving before he made her leave – or killed her. Because he would. He would realise eventually that he didn’t need her. Didn’t want her. That he could do better.  
She could feel herself getting worked up as she lay there in the dark. The hot burning in her eyes of angry tears. She bet he already had another girl. That was why he felt it was ok to keep her around. J could have anyone he wanted, why would he settle for just one? He wouldn’t.  
The minute she had started on this path of thought the voices in her head had soon grabbed controlled, pulling her mind deeper into the depressing hole of self-doubt. That’s right. They crowed in her ear, you need to be better. They were right. She did need to be better. Do better. Otherwise she’d lose her puddin’ forever. She could practically feel herself gaining weight as she lay there.  
She sat up quickly, her head spinning from the quick movement. She tried to bounce out of bed, but she couldn’t find the energy, instead just sliding herself across the sheets. Suddenly, she felt a strong, muscular arm wrap around her waist and pull her backwards.  
Her collided with the Joker’s solid bare chest, “Where do you think you’re going, doll?” Came the sleepy growl in her ear.  
She didn’t want to look at him. If she did she wouldn’t want to leave. Those blue eyes would catch her. “I – I can’t sleep.” She muttered, pulling weakly at his restraint, all her muscles aching from the effort. The voices in her head were louder now Demanding. She needed to be up and on her feet or else she was lazy. Failing.  
The self-hatred fuelled her and she could ignore the ache, pulling more violently against J’s arm and writhing under his grip till he released her. She was jumped up and out of bed energetically, landing on her feet, her legs almost immediately complaining under her weight, any energy she had, now completely spent. But she ignored it. She was used to the aches and pains by now. They were normal in her mind. Everyone must feel like she did. There was nothing else.   
Movement caught the eye and she turned to see J moving to get out of bed. “Puddin’!” She whined at him “Noooo.” She pouted, leaning over to press her cold hand to his solid chest. “You need ya’ sleep.”  
“So do you, doll.” He grumbled. She looked at him properly now, though she knew she shouldn’t she could help but admire him. His green hair - usual so neatly styled – was dishevelled, rouge strands falling forward and framing his face, his pallor skin, tight over his sharp cheekbones, the rings under his eyes still dark and the eyes themselves their clear blue, though slightly clouded with sleep.  
He was beautiful in his own way, she thought, admiring every inch of him. To some people his appearance was terrifying, few others found in almost intoxicating. I was one of those. The vibrant red lips were addictive, his carved muscles drew her touch and his eyes captivated her.  
And that’s where she found herself lost now, revelling in his perfection. The voices soon invaded though. How could she compare? How could she hold her puddin’? She was nothing compared to him – body and brains.  
“I went’a bed early.” She lied when she noticed he was still her as she stared, lost in him. Her eyes pleaded with him hard, the classic puppy eyes which she knew he found too annoying to ignore. “I’m fine, puddin’! Just ‘cause I can’t sleep doesn’t me you shouldn’t!” She reasoned and he just stared back, something calculating behind his eyes – eyes that penetrated her own and made her sure he could see through her white lie.  
But then J dropped back down onto the bed, turning over so his back was to her. She felt the gesture like a well-aimed punch to her chest, but she knew the fight was over. He was letting her go. She headed out the room silently, before he changed his mind.  
Harley wandered around the penthouse aimlessly, not having any motivation or energy to move faster, and not sure what to do with herself. She got bored enough as it was during the day, but all these extra hours made it even more difficult to keep herself entertained.   
She vaguely remembered a time when it wasn’t like this, when her days were full and she felt she was living for something. But nothing appealed to her anymore. She couldn’t even stand to be around J much anymore, not when she felt he was always watching her, picking out all her flaws and, most likely, with another woman most of the time.  
Harley wandered past her gun which was sat on the glass table in the corridor. She picked it up, admiring the personalised design. J had got it for her back when they had first met, when she had committed herself to him. She soon found herself soon putting the gun back down. She didn’t want to think about J at the moment. It hurt that she wasn’t good enough for him anymore.   
She wandered into the main living room area, noticing her baseball bat was still sat by the sofa where she had left it ages ago. She eyed it for a moment but decided against moving it. She couldn’t be bothered.  
She never could.  
She kept walking, moving round the sofa to stand with it behind her, ready for her to fall back onto the plush, expensive cushions. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.  
Her feet protested underneath her, but she ignored it, bending for the remote and the screen flickering to life. The TV was already on the right channel, but she flicked through the options mindlessly anyway until she settled on the original programme.  
So, Harley continued to stand there, refusing to give into her limbs and collapse onto the chair behind her, even pacing to prevent the urge, as she watched the cupcake competition currently playing on the huge flat screen in front of her.  
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but when she glanced out the window, the sun was fully visible in the sky now, though still low and only visible due to her high position in the penthouse, towering above or alongside the other skyscrapers. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, wondering if she had stood long enough to earn the right to sit down.  
Probably not.  
She needed to move then.  
She left the TV playing, blind to the noise now her mind was focused elsewhere. She moved to the kitchen, flicking the switch so the room filled with harsh, almost clinical, lighting.  
Almost robotically she reached around the kitchen, digging out the stuff she needed. She would bake. She loved to cook recently – baking especially. It was one of the few things that held her attention nowadays. J hadn’t been thrilled at the start. Harley wasn’t the best cook, and she wasn’t a tidy one either, the kitchen always ending up coated in flour or baking mixture. She also hated cleaning so often left the room filthy, wandering off for someone else to have to deal with it.  
But she did it so much now that she was slowly improving. After J had been brave enough to be persuaded to try a cookie again even he had to admit she’d got better – hell, he hadn’t even grimaced at the flavour for once.  
Now she loved to bake him cookies and cupcakes which he couldn’t resist thanks to her discovery of his sweet tooth. He grumbled about the fact that everything was shaped in hearts, was usually pink and often had ‘puddin’ written over them, but that never stopped him eating most of them – the rest soon vanishing when some of the henchmen came to pick up their orders.   
And so, Harley spent the early hours of the morning filling the penthouse full of the sweet smell of sugar and cinnamon until the clock told her it was exactly 8am. She finished what she was doing and finally allowed herself to eat something, though her stomach had clawed at her for attention since she had woken up. She turned to the marble island in the centre of the kitchen, seeking out the fruit bowl. An apple. She grabbed it and went to work, cutting it into the finest slices she could manage and then weighing it on the set of scales – after wiping it down to ensure there couldn’t be a trace of anything left on it from her recent baking session.  
50g. That was 26 calories. She knew that.  
She took a small handful of slices from the scale. 42g. Good. She was safe that the scales couldn’t lie to her. It was definitely 50gs worth of calories or less.   
She mentally noted the calories down in her mind. Breakfast sorted. 26 calories – or less.  
Harley munched on the apple, trying to eat slowly, glad she had cut the apple up so thinly. A trick to making her feel like she was eating more than she was.  
She felt herself shiver even though the room was still hot from the heat the oven emitted. She reallyed wanted a hot drink – she craved coffee and the could practically smell the beans that J often brewed, which were stored on the other side of the room. But she didn’t make herself a coffee. She couldn’t afford the calories – all 2-9 of them (depending on who you asked – 18 in Harley’s book because that was the highest she had found when she had searched it one day).  
She shifted her weight on her feet, refusing to sit on the stools next to her. She wished she didn’t always wake up so early. If she got up later there was less time in the day to be hungry, if she managed to sleep later, she could eat later, then she would get hungry later and might even be able to skip lunch.  
All too soon she had demolished her pathetic pile of apple and she considered what to do next as she scrutinized the cupcakes that sat cooling on the side. Today was technically her day off training – but that didn’t mean it was her day off exercise.  
She slipped back into the bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes, quickly changing and pulling a jumper over her goosebump riddled arms. It was July. Must be global warming or something, she thought to herself.  
Harley then took their private elevator down to the ground floor. She received a few weird looks on the way out of the building but, on recognising who she was, they kept that traps shut and their gaze diverted. Business men rushed past her, late for meetings or something, and one person even collided with her. Before she might have turned on him and taught the thug a few lessons none too kindly, but right now she couldn’t be bothered. A small snarl in his direction was enough for him to realise who he had hit and he had turned tailed and legged it anyway.   
She stepped out into the early morning wind that wound its way down the street and hugged her arms to herself tightly. She would just go for a walk. That was all. She headed off – into the wind so she could fight against the gusts for the maximum calorie burn.   
She was going for a walk, but she soon found herself running. She couldn’t help it. The voices taunted her that she could be doing more, making excuses that it would make her better and her reasonable voice even added that it might warm her up.  
She ran till she couldn’t breathe anymore, choking in exhaustion and then walked to catch her breath before continuing on. She didn’t pay attention to the people around her, most not even paying attention to her. After all, she didn’t look like herself. Nothing about her screamed Harley Quinn. She didn’t want to attract attention to herself anymore. She was too ashamed of herself.  
She ran a large loop that ended back at the penthouse and took a good hour - An hour and ten to be precise. New record. And one she would have to match or beat next time. She could never allow herself to do less than a previous run – that wasn’t trying hard enough to the voices.  
She walked without thinking back into the bedroom, only realising as she headed to the bathroom that the bed was empty. J must be up and working, she wondered if he’d found the cakes.  
Soon the sound of water hitting the shower floor filled the huge luxurious bathroom. She undressed, having to pause for a moment when she felt a wave of light-headedness wash over her. She perched on the side of the large bath tub, eventually allowing herself to slip off and sink to the tiled floor, her knees folded into her chest and her head in her hands as she tried to breathe evenly, momentarily terrified something bad was happening to her.  
She tried to breathe evenly, waiting for her head to feel clearer, a small part of her worried if she had been overdoing it recently, but that was quickly quashed down and, after a few moments, I felt steady enough to push myself wearily to my feet.  
Standing upright made her feel woozy again but she persevered anyway, slipping into the shower and moving slowly until she felt a bit better – though it was probably the speed she always moved. Everything she did was now was slow. But everyone had days like that right? She thought, when you didn’t have the energy or motivation to move any faster than one slow pace. That was just life – she just happen to do it a lot lately. But was it really slow after all – was she just being silly?  
She stood pondering this as she let the hot water fall around her. Suddenly hard, cold arms wrapped around stomach. She flinched at the cool contact on an area she felt so sensitive about, gasping in surprise, at the cold.   
“Jeez, doll, this water is boiling.” Came the familiar growl behind her and she spun around to come face to face with J, still fully clothed, behind me.  
“What are you doin’ puddin’?” She asked in disbelief, staring at J’s shirt which hung open as though he had been in the middle of getting dressed, the water now soaking into the sleeves.  
“Trying to see if my little kitten wanted to get hot in a different way” He purred, teasingly pulling her towards him “Other than pouring lava on her skin.” He growled, his hands trailing over her skin and making goose bumps erupt across her skin in a non-sexual way. She shivered.  
“Ooo doll, do that again.” J purred, pulling her closer so she was pressed against his muscular chest, his cold skin and damp shirt, seeming to pull the heat from her body.  
“Puddin’, no…” Harley whined, pushing away from him and stepping back under the powerful shower, hugging her arms to myself and embracing the heat that washed over her.   
“Excuse me, doll?” Asked J incredulously, his grin dropping and his eyes becoming dark – like they did when anyone refused him something.  
“I’m sorry, puddin!” Harley apologised quickly, but still backing away as far as she could under the water – she hated disappointing him and knew the wrath that lay under his cool exterior. “I’m just not in the mood.”  
He ignored her apology and left in a huff, leaving her alone, and feeling even colder, in the shower.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Harley didn’t clash with J for the rest of the day – mostly because J had left the penthouse after the shower event and, when he came back, he shut himself away like usual in his office.  
The relative peace only lasted till that evening however, when J told Harley they were going to the club that night.  
“No thanks, puddin’.” Harley had dismissed, giving her familiar answer as she lounged on the sofa (her first sit down in over 4 hours).  
He frowned, his eyes darkening immediately again. He didn’t say anything in reply but he didn’t move either. Harley had expected a slightly annoyed answer and then leave – maybe in a huff, but she didn’t have the energy to care. When J didn’t do anything however, she turned her head to look at him, frowning in question.  
“It wasn’t a request this time, doll.” J growled in warning.  
Harley’s eyes widened slightly, surprised his anger. What he forcing her to go out with him? “I don’t want to go, puddin’.” She whined, but she tried to put some firmness behind it.  
“I don’t care what you want, doll.” He purred dangerously.  
That hurt.   
“You can’t force me to go out with you, J.” Harley told him, but her voice faltered slightly under his gaze and she could feel her pulse rising under her skin. He was beginning to scare her.  
“Kitten,” He warned, “you’re pushing me and I’m not sure you want to.” There was no smile on his face, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes fierce.  
She was becoming scared now. Was this it? Was he finally going to get rid of her? Had he finally become sick of all of her flaws?   
She hated letting J down by not wanting to go with him - she hadn’t been to the club in over a month now, but J went nearly every night to one or another of his businesses - but she was tired, both physically and mentally. The voices in her head seemed confused too - if Harley went to the club then all the movement would burn more calories than just staying here, but she was exhausted and the idea of trying to make it through the whole night trying to look alive and alert wasn’t appealing to her.   
She watched J warily. She wasn’t sure what to say to him now, he was still frightening her and she was scared to push him any further and she wasn’t sure what she could say to placate him. All that was running through her head at the moment were her usual excuses as to why she didn’t want to go – too tired, she didn’t even drink, he didn’t need her there. But she knew J didn’t care about her excuses.  
She couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, keeping her gaze down. He could still feel his eyes glaring darkly at her and - if she looked at him now - she was sure she would see the anger darkening his eyes to a stormy blue.  
When the silence between them became too much, Harley had to look up at him just to try to gage what he was feeling. It was worse than she thought and she was worried what she was seeing was not truly anger, but hurt, as though he was in some sort of pain.   
That sight burned her. Broke her. She had to look away, concentrating instead, back onto the thick carpet under her socks, tracing the pattern with her eyes.  
“I’m sorry, puddin’” She mumbled at the floor.  
“You’re sorry?” He whined, mimicking her cruelly. “You’re sorry?“ he asked again. “Your apologies are like cheesy pop songs doll, they just keep playing till people are sick of them!” He sneered.  
She didn’t know what to say to that - clearly an apology wouldn’t be right - so she continued to stare at the floor. It was comfier like this. She liked the fact her neck hung loose, no energy needed to hold it up. She liked the fact she was collapsed on the sofa, all day she wished she could have done it.  
“Look at you.” he snarled venomously, gesturing to her as she sat - probably looking like a rejected puppet collapsed against the arm of the sofa and lost amongst the many layers of baggy jumpers and hoodies she wore, "pathetic.”  
“You’re weak.” He spat, “No spark, no flare, no energy. What is the use of you anymore?” he demanded.  
Harley shook her head at the carpet, each word stabbing and shooting through her painfully like he was firing the weapons she knew were in his pockets. What was the point in her? What was her use anymore? She could feel the hot tears forming in her eyes and she tried to hold back the tide that now threatened to overwhelm, covering her face with her hands as if somehow that might help to hold it all back.  
“Pathetic.” J snarled again before he spun around and stormed out of the room, leaving Harley curled into the sofa, no longer able to hold back the emotions. She let out a single hiccupping sob and that just triggered everything else to come pouring out until she was blubbering into the expensive sofa arm.  
Shortly afterwards she heard the roar of an engine from the direction of the window and the screech of a wheel that told her that J had left, and new, more intense sobs racked her body until she was gripping fists of her hair and pulling them in misery and frustration.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------

She went to bed early that night, unable to concentrate on anything but on how low she was feeling. How nothing was right. How she was starving and wanted food. How she was in pain and hated her workouts, dreaded them every day. How she hated that she hurt people around her – especially J. She didn’t blame him for going off on her, everything he said had been true. She was weak, she was pathetic.  
With all these things replaying in her head, she slept fitfully that night – never seeming to manage for than 30 minutes before she was awoken by her own mind.  
That was why - when the Joker finally returned to the suite at 4am the following morning – Harley was lying awake. Hungry, thirsty, depressed and stressed, yet too exhausted to anything about any of these things, she just lay staring up at the ceiling in the dark.  
When she heard the front door open she knew it would have to be him – security was tight around here, very tight. Not even a henchman was allowed up here if J wasn’t around. None the less she automatically panicked, her every sense focused on his movements through the pent house as she tried to detect when he was getting close to the room.  
After a few long agonising minutes, the hallway light was switched on illuminating the outline of the door directly in front of her. She heard the door open and a crack of light enlarged as the bedroom door opened to reveal J’s dark shadow in the doorway. Harley blinked at the sudden brightness that filled the room.  
The silence between us stretched on. She didn’t move and neither did J.  
She could have pretended to sleep. Delayed the conversation, maybe even removed the chance to have it.   
But she was tired, achy, depressed and starving.  
“Help me.” She whimpered into the dark, too exhausted to cry, but still feeling the stinging feeling in her eye.  
She thought J’s shadow would leave her then. Turn and walk away from the pitiful girl lying on the bed, unable to find anything within her to even sit up. All she did was wait for the shadow to leave the doorway and for the sound of receding footsteps.  
But they didn’t.  
The shadow moved, but not away. It came into the room, J’s steps softened by the thick carpet underfoot. Harley closed her eyes, no longer sure she wanted to do this now.  
The next thing she knew she was being scooped up by strong arms and pulled upright with very little effort until she was cradled in his arms. His chest was hard and cold, but she found it comforting and solid and she didn’t care that she was shivering.  
“I thought you would have left.” He murmured so quietly she almost couldn’t hear.  
She shook her head – hard as it was to do when she was pressed so tightly to his chest.  
“The one time, kitten, that the I’m glad you’re not like you use to be.” He said, and Harley pulled her head up to look him in the eyes, frowning with confusion.  
“The old you would never had let me get away with the shit I said to you, doll. You would have up and left whilst preaching about some right you had or something.” He chuckled quietly to himself. Harley just cuddled back into his solid chest, showing him in her own silent way that she had no intention to leave. His arms tightened around her even more.  
They stayed like that in silence for a while, happy to be in each-others company. It was what she had always wanted between them – for him to slow down for a moment, and she guessed she needed to as well. It was a rare kind of sincerity with the Joker.  
“I just want to be perfect for you J.” She finally admitted, lifting her head slightly so she could speak.  
He didn’t say anything and she had to wonder if he heard me. She buried her face back once more into his chest, embarrassed for confessing something so personal when he didn’t even care to listen.   
“You think I would waste my time on someone who wasn’t already perfect?” He asked, and she felt the vibration of his voice through his chest, it comforted her.  
She pulled herself away from him again so she could look up at his face, “But you’re always around all those pretty girls at the club – I’m nothing like them.” Harley pointed out.  
“You don’t think I know that, doll?” He demanded with a frown and she let her head drop – he was annoyed that she wasn’t like them then. “I’m glad you’re not, doll.” He said, surprising her, “I’ve been around those sorts of girls for a very long time and none of them have ever come home with me.” He told me, “The first night I saw you I made sure you did.” There was another pause of silence, both of them lost in their own minds. “That was a long time ago though.” J reminisced, “A time when you looked very different.”  
“But why - ?” She pressed, confused by what he was saying – it didn’t make sense to her.  
“Because doll, I chose you for more than you’re looks – which I hasten to add are more than adequate!” He said hotly, as though annoyed at her continual denial of this, “And I’ll be sure to correct you when you say otherwise.” He added. “But doll, the first thing I saw with you wasn’t your killer dress or your murderous curves,” He purred teasingly, running his hands up her body, still holding her upright in bed, and she squirmed under his touch, uncharacteristically trying to hold back giggles, “It was your personality, your humour, your energy. All of which you are now severely lacking in, kitten.” He pointed out.   
At these last words, any happiness she had built from being curled up with him, crumbled. “I’m a failure.” She blubbered, feeling herself close to sobbing again.  
“You’re not a failure doll,” J said, almost softly, though there was firmness to his voice, “I’m afraid you’re just sane.” He said solemnly, “It’s a terrible disease that grips you – it makes you care too much, it makes you gullible, it makes you greedy for something better and never content to revel in the present.” He rattled off passionately. He switched his arm placement so he supported her with only one arm, the other he brought up to her face and tenderly wiped away the tears on her cheeks, “It’s a terrible disease,” He repeated, “It always makes you look for the reason to cry, not to laugh.” He added with a sad smile that she could just make out in the poor lighting.  
Harley gave him a weak smile in return, probably looking a state even in the darkness, and her smile dropped again at the thought. J must have noticed because he moved his hand from her cheek to her chin, tilting her face up so she looked at him in the eye. “That why I’m here though, doll.” He said with a small smile, “I’m the opposite of you, you’re my sanity doll, and I’m your crazy.” He purred lowly, tilting her face more and pulling her up as he leant down and he kissed her.  
“I’ll help you.” He promised, “No one disrespects my Queen, especially not the Queen herself.”


End file.
